


to all that is chaotic in you

by propinquitous



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Platonic Cuddling, Post-Episode: s10e03 Soul Survivor, Queerplatonic Relationships, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-24
Updated: 2014-11-24
Packaged: 2018-02-26 20:45:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2665772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/propinquitous/pseuds/propinquitous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been so long since anyone touched him - and now, in the wake of Dean's cure, Sam needs affirmation. He needs someone to tell him he did the right thing.</p><p>(99% Sam/Cas, with a little bit of Hannah at the end.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	to all that is chaotic in you

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be short, self-indulgent sastiel fluff, but somehow it became 1300 words of queerplatonic hurt/comfort. And then Hannah got dragged into the mix at the end, poor thing.
> 
> title from [this](http://propinquitous.tumblr.com/post/69032652611/to-all-that-is-chaotic-in-you-let-there-come) poem, which has always made me think of Sam.

Sam is sitting on his bed, working at the double knot of his shoelaces, when Castiel knocks.

"Can I come in?" he asks, peering around the door frame.

"Yeah, of course," Sam says. He scoots over a little and motions for Cas to take a seat in the space he's made, and Cas walks in measured steps to the bed. He pauses for a moment, looks from Sam to the space and back to Sam.

The bed bows under his weight and he sighs as he draws one leg up, facing Sam.

"Did you need something?" Sam asks. He's almost got the last knot out.

"No, I just wanted to check on you before I left. You've had a very trying day," Cas' voice wavers a little as he says it, but his eyes are level.

"Yeah," Sam sighs. "I guess I have." He's finally got the laces undone, so he kicks off his boots and watches as they tumble across the floor. He really is worn out, a bone-deep exhaustion settling in his limbs. The things Dean had said, well. He knows they're true, that Dean has felt that way at times; it's nothing he hasn't thought about himself, either. But Dean's voice was so thin with resentment, so empty of the years, of the life that Sam had cost him.

He blinks. His eyes sting and his throat feels tight. He can't will himself to move, so he stares at his socked feet and drums his toes against the floor, waiting for it all to pass. Cas watches as he fights the frown tugging at his mouth.

"Oh, Sam," he says. Cas' voice is soft, airy. He reaches forward to tuck a strand of hair back and lets his fingertips linger on the shell of Sam's ear, lets his hand slide down to the back of his neck. He curves his palm when Sam turns into the touch.

It's been so long, Sam thinks. No one has really touched him since Amelia, not without trying to hurt him. He's always been an affectionate person, someone who thrived off of small gestures, affirmations through touch. When he was very small he would run for Dad's arms the second he walked through the motel room door, and when he outgrew his father's affection, he turned to Dean. He would ask him through touch, squeezes on his shoulder, slaps on the arm, and Dean was always willing to give it to him. But even before this most recent mess, Dean's touch had started to feel like an accusation.

"You've done so well," Cas says. He runs a thumb over Sam's cheek, feels the stubble underneath his palm. When Sam sighs and doesn't immediately wipe the tears away, Cas takes that as his cue to shift closer, to put his arms around Sam's shoulders. Sam starts to shake when Cas runs his fingers through his hair, and bows his head so that face is pressed against Cas' neck. Cas shushes Sam in a way he thinks a lover might, and he frowns at the feeling of Sam's knitted brow and tears against his skin.

"You saved your brother. You saved him again," Cas says. Sam tenses underneath his arms and pulls away, scowling.

"He didn't want to be saved," Sam chokes out. He presses his hands to his face, digs the heels into his eyes. "Why did I do this to him?"

"Sam, he didn't want to be saved because he was relieved to be what he thought he deserved. That doesn't mean we should have let him keep being that, not when we know he is so much more." Cas extends his hand again, an offering. Sam takes it.

"What if it doesn't work? What if -"

"Sam, would it be all right if tonight, you rested? If just for tonight, you let yourself stop worrying."

"The last time I did that, Dean hated me for it," Sam say, smiling wryly. Cas sighs and shakes his head.

"You're allowed to take care of yourself, Sam. You can't let anyone tell you differently. Not even Dean." Sam scoffs but doesn't pull away.

After that, they sit together a while longer. Cas runs his hands over Sam's knuckles while he steadies his breathing. He wonders if he should speak, but he thinks it would be better to wait until Sam does, until he is ready to fill the silence.

Sam doesn't know what to do. He wants to sleep for days, he wants to run a marathon, he wants to find an angel with enough mojo left to send him back to the time he first met Mary, tell her she can still have Dean but after that she should leave, take Dean and run and make sure that they're safe from all the demons, from him. He wants someone to hold him, to tell him it's not his fault, that there's nothing he could've done to change what's happened.

"Cas, would you," Cas' hand tightens around his.

"What do you need?" Sam laughs a little as Cas says it, at himself and at his friend in equal measure.

"Would you just, would you lie down with me? Just for a little while." He looks away and swallows, wills himself not to be embarrassed.

"I can do that," Cas says simply. He gets up to shrug off his coat, which he hangs gingerly on a hook in the wall, and takes off his shoes, placing them neatly by the nightstand before he comes back. Sam has already moved to the far side of the bed, his knees bent so that his feet don't dangle off the end.

Cas climbs into the bed and situates himself, his back against the wall where he sits beside Sam. Like before, he waits for Sam to take the lead, unsure of what he wants or what might be considered appropriate. It takes a few minutes, but Sam inhales deeply and works up the nerve to turn around and lay his head in Cas' lap. He inhales the scent of the Continental's old leather, of whatever chemicals the last dry cleaners used on Cas' slacks.

Sam's hair is soft between Cas' fingers as he runs them through it. He kneads gently at the base of Sam's skull, rubs his fingers over the scalp at his hairline. He tentatively scratches there, and when Sam lets out a long breath he applies more pressure, moving his fingers around the curve of his head. Sam nuzzles his thigh. Cas lets his hand wander under Sam's collar to gently rub the skin between his shoulder blades.

They stay like that for a while, long enough that Sam passes out pressed up against Cas' side. Cas wishes he could stay, wishes he could fall asleep holding Sam and they could wake up and face tomorrow and all of its consequences together. But this was only the first part of his mission, so he gently taps at Sam's temple and says, "I have to go, Sam. I'm sorry."

He slides out from under Sam, easing Sam's head onto a pillow as he does.

"S'okay," Sam mumbles. "Would you get the light on your way out?"

"Of course." Cas puts on his shoes and coat, and spends one more minute in the doorway to make sure that Sam falls back asleep.

\--

He gets into the driver's seat of the Continental without a word, an excuse for the time he spent inside. Instead he reaches over to take Hannah's hand. He marvels at the warmth of her skin, the comfort he feels at the physical connection.

"Human things," he says by way of explanation. Hannah lets out a little laugh and nods, and she doesn't let go.


End file.
